These Words
by pulchritudo in omnia
Summary: Various different Cheeky Monkey Challenges and writing prompts. Rated M to be safe.
1. Run

**A/N: **_This is a response to my own challenge on CMDA, "In Which the Warden Dies." It has been a long time coming. I'm pretty nervous to post this, too, what with all the brilliant writers on that website. I'm just dipping my toes into this fandom, and it won't be for a while that I muster up the courage to dive in head first. Here's to a beginning, though. _

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own Dragon Age. Bioware does. It sucks, I know. _

_-.-.-_

_Light up, light up  
>As if you have a choice<br>Even if you cannot hear my voice  
>I'll be right beside you dear<em>

_-Run, Leona Lewis.  
><em>

_-.-.-  
><em>

She wasn't like other women born and raised into privilege. Other girls who gossiped behind backs, who twirled around in dresses fashioned out of the finest fabrics on the market, who flirted endlessly with courtiers in search of their match. Elissa mingled about politics, donned her dinged and dented armor, and shied away whenever a man sent any sort of romantic attention her way. The other girls were taught to hold their heads high and present themselves as the striking noble ladies they were at all times, while Elissa slouched, sparred and sunk her blades within the hearts of darkspawn. They read the teachings of the Chantry and attended sermons to show their dedication to the Maker. Elissa sat around the campfire, bent forward with her lips tugged into a grin as Zevran and Leliana whispered stories filled of lore, exaggerated with lust filled grins.

Elissa never believed in the childhood stories of her people, of the knight supported by a brilliant white steed. She never waited for the moment he would arrive and sweep her off her feet. Her fairy tales ended long ago, marred with the blood of her family and friends, slain at the hands of Rendon Howe. Wardens never received their happy endings, not with the Blight looming above their heads and the Archdemon walking in their dreams. But Alistair tried to instill some sort of hope within her, if even a slight flicker, before the light vanished from his and her world on that final battle which ended it all. Tried and failed—right when it mattered most.

He remembered the day she entered his life. Her tear stained cheeks, blood caked wounds, unkempt hair and dented armor. In every way she mirrored a woman who guarded herself with wooden walls and propped the world up on a pedestal, only watch a fire set them ablaze and crumble to the floor around her. She lived a life sheltered from the brutalities of the world, and at the first sight of reality her gilded cage set her free into a world unknown.

Duncan whispered to him at night, worried that the newest recruit wouldn't last the Joining—that her sorrow would swallow her before she proved her worth as a possible Grey Warden. But when they braved the Wilds before the Joining and she sunk her blade into her first darkspawn, then another, and another, all expectations faded away. Elissa Cousland blossomed into a warrior, fueled by a desire to protect her people.

It was through that desire she pursued the building of allegiances to overcome the Blight, assisted by her companions. Through the cold nights, the heated battles, days when she screamed into a twisted cloth while her wounds were tended to she hardened herself, desperate to right the wrong in the world. Alistair respected that about her, and yet feared her passion would do nothing besides lead her into danger. But that didn't prevent him from loving her and allowing himself moments of selfishness when he knew there was a chance one of them could perish come sunrise at any moment.

He remembered the first time they made love. The way her tentative fingers, terrified to explore, stroked patterns across his face, neck and chest. They never ventured further. The way her eyes widened the first time he filled her, locked on the inky sky above, as if seeing the world for the first time with new eyes. Her lips were like fire, leaving a trail of charred skin in their wake. They covered him, enveloped him until he was completely lost in them. He ventured further, always finding somewhere new to explore, focused on the sounds she elicited beneath him. Around them a fire roared, bathing them in an orange glow. A hand splayed across her hip and pulled her closer. Always closer. The grass was their blanket and they were each others clothes.

Pulling away from her never entered his mind. His entire body throbbed with happiness, ached with love. So beautiful, so perfect he could fold in on himself. She reached out with her trembling hands, fingers curled in his hair to tug his face to her collar bone. A whispered, "I love you," a gentle caress. Her lashed veiled her eyes which mirrored the sea, reflecting the glow of the stars above. A shudder, a moan, release. The colors around them melted, a mere backdrop to their lovemaking, leaving them curled together. Alone.

He'd kissed her palm and placed it over his heart. A silent promise which ensured that no matter what, at the end of the day it belonged to her. She'd leaned across the distance between them, still exhausted from their exertion, and kissed him. In a way, it was her own promise to keep it safe. He never thought of the repercussions that came hand in hand with loving with such devotion—enough to entrust her with something so vital. He never thought he would be there to watch the light in the world drain, either.

"_Will it hurt?" _Elissa had asked him one night, her fingers entwined with his. Three simple words, and yet they caught him off guard. Never did he think they resembled the only warning she would give him. She prepared herself for the ultimate sacrifice, one Riordan and her kept to themselves, if only to protect their future king. To find out too late Elissa knew all along what would come of her actions—it killed him. Alistair never believed himself to be a hero, but Elissa was one person he should have been able to save.

The battle before the end of the Blight passed in a blur. Blood coated the world in scarlet, the sky shrouded the world and bathed it in black. But Elissa shone like a beacon in the distance, her blades poised and prepared to thrust themselves into the skull of the Archdemon. Zevran held Alistair back when he launched himself after her, his shouts ripping through him, severing a piece of him in the process. She plunged her blades into the Archdemon and the world exploded in white. And when the world faded back into a reality, bloodied warriors and causalities strewn across the battle soaked ground, he raced forward to cradle her in the cage of his arms.

"_We...we did it_..._love." _Her words died on her lips, and just as the world seemed a little brighter for all of Ferelden, the light slipped out of his. His companions—the ones Elissa insisted on befriending on their journey—tried to console him. Tried to pull him away from the fallen Warden as he cried, her broken form in his arms. They reached out to him with comforting hands, whispered apologies for the loss of his beloved. He didn't want their gestures, nor did he want to hear their words, because the only ones he wanted to hear were lost on the lips of Elissa's lifeless soul.

She made him king. But who wanted to rule without the one they loved beside them?

On the day of Elissa Cousland's funeral ceremony, he spoke before those who gathered to honor the Hero of Ferelden about a true warrior and the keeper of his heart. He could imagine the horror which would have lined her eyes when she realized her friends cried over her death—the way she would have tugged on their faces until their frowns turned into forced grins, but grins nonetheless. She would have chided him for allowing the children of Denerim to inlay her hair with the petals of roses and wildflowers, when he knew they bothered her sinuses. And when the ceremony ended and he was given a few moments to say goodbye to her before they cremated her and erected a stone sculpture of her in her memory, she would have punched him in the stomach and pinched his cheeks for even daring to shed a tear for her.

Even now, standing before her fallen form, he imagined her beside him. Her hair still billowed in the wind like he remembered, her hand filled in his the empty space of his palm, while the other still fit across the small of her back when he pulled her close. He could remember the heat of her kiss, the warmth of her body. They imprinted a permanent memory in his mind, one he never dared to erase. He imagined the feel of his fingers splayed across her chest, right over her heart which throbbed for him. Then, curious, he placed his palm over his own.

It beat, but he'd never felt so lifeless before. "I love you, my dear."

"_As I love you, Alistair." _

A whisper of the wind, and then silence.


	2. Lay Your Head Down

_**A/N: **This is a response to a Cheeky Monkey Challenge where two characters swapped bodies. Warning: smut ahead. XD My first try at writing out something of this nature. Kind of...different. Feels like I invaded something personal between two people, but it was fun to write. So...yeah. You've been warned. And this definitely isn't great at all...but again, it was fun to write. Haha. _

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own Dragon Age. Bioware does. Geesh. _

-.-.-

_Lay your head on my shoulder; it'll be alright in the morning.  
>Oh yes it will.<br>Said I'll try to ease your pain, I'll hold your hand through stormy weather.  
>Oh yes I will, yes I will. <em>

_**Lay Your Head Down – John Legend**_

-.-.-

_Fuck, _I thought, staring up at the ceiling of a very familiar home. _I must have slept with Fenris again. _My hands reached down to my body, covered with blankets and tangled in the sheets. I nodded my head. _Yup, definitely a wild night. Shouldn't have let Isabela and Varric pour me all those drinks. _

But when my hand smoothed along my stomach, my bare stomach at that, I noted a few bumps there I hadn't harbored before. Or rather, abdominal muscles. I moved my hands upward, palms cupped around the curves of my...pectoral muscles? Either my drinks contained some sort of enhancement drugs in them, or the Maker decided to bless me over night. Though I _was _rather content with my previous body.

With a groan, I shifted my weight to the side of the bed and stumbled into the opposite wall when my legs buckled beneath me. For a moment I remained dazed, my legs splayed at odd angles on the floor beneath me. I glanced over at the bed to see if I had woken Fenris, but found that he no longer remained within the comfort his blankets provided. I figured he went to fix himself up. After all, Kirkwall's baddies never stayed silent for too long. I knew I should probably get ready as well and dress for the long day ahead of me.

On my feet again, I walked toward Fenris' mirror, stopping right before his vanity, packed full of clothing I'd never seen him wear. Curious, I pulled the drawer open and rummaged inside, pulling out a few things here and there that struck me as particularly interesting. A few flowing tunics, breeches made of finer materials, things I never imagined the brooding elf to don on even a good day. They resembled some of the garments the nobles of Hightown wore, which surprised me. After all, he typically wore his armor, except for at night when he either wore nothing at all or a pair of pants.

"Fenris?" I called out, a smirk on my lips. After a moment my smirk dropped at the realization of how similar my voice sounded to Fenris'. "_Maker's balls."_

Before I stepped in front of the mirror and screamed louder than I ever had in my life, I knew deep within my gut what I would see there. Gone were my blue eyes, dark hair and slender silhouette. Those days were over. Now I stood, much taller than my previous body's height, with pointed ears, white hair and lyrium tattoos covering my body. Then, when I took in the sight for long enough, I slumped forward with a pained sigh and submitted to unconsciousness.

-.-.-

When I regained consciousness, a loud pounding on the door echoed throughout the halls of Fenris' mansion and sent me stumbling to answer it. Still garbed in only my breeches—or _his, _I didn't know what to think anymore—I ripped the door open and hissed when a pissed off _me _entered the room, hands curled around my wrist.

The lyrium on my skin burned and glowed under the sudden pressure, and in that instant something within me tore, severed right down the middle. Red spotted my vision. Without thinking I grabbed my previous body and shoved it against a wall, my face inches away from the female body standing before me. My free hand hovered over the spot right above the heart, prepared to take the plunge and rip it free from its confines. That power, knowing I could end someone's life, startled me.

"_Hawke._"

My name pulled me back to reality. The glowing and pain subsided and I lowered myself to the ground, angered with myself for almost ripping my own heart out like I'd seen Fenris do so many times before. I tugged my knees up to my chest and propped my head against them, focusing on nothing more than breathing. In and out, in and out, until I formed a pattern and stuck with it.

"What's going on?" I asked, trying so hard to not cry while in this form. I didn't want to soil any respect Fenris held for me by doing so. "I wake up in a different bed, inside a different body. I could have handled drinking myself stupid and waking up in your bed—that wouldn't have been too bad. But _this?_ I am a guy. A full blown guy! I have the parts to prove it." I started to tug at my breeches, mortified.

"Keep your pants on, Hawke." Fenris glowered at me, but it screwed up my face in a way I hadn't expected. I was kind of pretty; I'd go for myself. "We have other matters to attend to. Like how to get out of these bodies and into our original ones."

"I don't remember what even happened in the first place for this to have happened. The last thing I remember was having a drink at the Hanged Man. Did something happen? Did I hit my head, or both of us get in an accident?" I mulled over both options. Neither of them made sense.

"Normal people don't hit their heads and wake up in another body," Fenris said, brows furrowed, one hand on his hip.

I smirked. "You look like a girl when you do that."

"Hawke, keep your focus."

"Okay, okay—it's funny, that's all. Like you said, normal people don't hit their heads and wake up in another body. We're most likely dealing with magic here; this is quite possibly the work of mages. Were there any people, any at all, that would wish to harm _either _of us. Besides Anders, don't even go there."

"You're certain that abomination wouldn't try doing something like this for fun?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest. "It wouldn't be the first time he abused his powers in doing something childish like this. You remember what he did last time."

"So your nether regionswere stiff for the day—_big deal_."

He didn't look amused. "I sometimes forget how old you are when you act like this."

"Almost twenty-four, but who's counting? Anyway, this isn't the work of Anders. Even he wouldn't think to punish us like this; he's not that cruel."

Fenris scowled at me and I returned the gesture with a sneer of my own. Long ago I would have kissed that look from off his face, in a time where I thought the possibility of him returning my affections was possible. But they were childish whims from three years prior, and now I stored them away in the back of my mind as fantasies. Fenris wasn't capable of love, not when his heart remained bound to his previous life.

"Yet there was no one else at the bar that would have done something like this. Except for our party I hadn't even seen some of the faces," he said, returning the attention back to the more important matters that had yet to be dealt with.

I shrugged. "We'll have to ask the others. Until then we'll have to do something about the fact that no one will think we're ourselves right now. After all, you're usually all brooding and stoic, while I'm...quite the opposite. If anything, we're going to have people thinking we've been possessed or something of that nature."

"Like it's _so _hard for me to be you." He cleared his throat and shifted the expression on his face to mirror mine. "I'm Ree Hawke. The world is great, I love mages, am easily distracted by shiny objects and cover my insecurities by making jokes."

All the emotion dropped from my own face and I locked my gaze on him, but tried my hardest to appear like, even though I looked at him, he wasn't there. He had a way of doing that himself; he could stare at me and not see me, and that in myself tore away at my heart for the past three years. Ever since _that day._ It was one of the more annoying traits about him that I tried to forget. Fenris grumbled under his breath over my imitation, but he hadn't even heard me speak yet.

"I'm Fenris, the world hates me, I run away from all my problems and block out everyone who tries to love me. Always. Even when I know that they could have been good for me."

I knew I made that mistake. Allowed myself to open up and expose the parts of me I would have much rather kept secret. Like my memories of Carver, the nightmares I was plagued with many a night. In each one I shoved him out of the way and allowed the ogre to take me instead. Maybe then my mother wouldn't be as sorrowful and my sister wouldn't be in the Circle. Carver would have known what to do—he always did. Fenris also knew about my fear of water, my struggles with insecurities—which I _did _cover with my humor—my inability to let go of the past. He'd seen the scar on my abdomen I tried to hide from him while fighting a band of highwaymen and pushed him out of the way to protect him from harm.

I can still remember the way he looked at it with a ferocity in his eyes I'd never seen before, one that burned into my skin and I trembled under. He brushed his finger along it and reprimanded me for doing something so stupid. I figured he feared the day I got hurt and he couldn't repair me with his touch. But that was then, three years ago, and this was now. We weren't the same people we once were—at least he wasn't.

We stood before each other, quieted by our words and disinterested in fixing the vacancy in the air. When he didn't say anything I moved out of the room and headed back toward the bedroom. Once the door shut behind me I pressed my back against the door and coasted down it. As soon as my backside pressed against the cold stones below I curled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around myself.

And without him watching, I let myself cry.

-.-.-

I didn't realize how long it must have taken Fenris to get his armor on day in and day out. All the straps and buckles, the uncomfortable lining that clung to my skin and, at times, burned the lyrium tattoos on my skin—or rather _his _skin. Even the slightest touch irritated them if rubbed the wrong way. I wondered, however vaguely, what it felt like when I had touched him all those years ago. Did I hurt him and set his skin ablaze?

In the back of my mind I recalled a conversation we had long ago. About how the memories of his life before failed to exist, but the most recent he remembered was the day they etched the lyrium tattoos into his skin. I imagined the agony on his face while he writhed, bonded to keep him still. The pained cries he must have shouted to the Maker to extend him some sort of solace. But I doubt any came, for a memory as such forced its way into the deepest part of his brain and haunted him on a daily basis.

We managed to make it to Lowtown before anyone picked up on the slightly off personalities in our party. Fenris managed to stick to the Ree Hawke everyone expected him to be; bright and happy at all times, veiled behind a shield of jokes. That way, no one would hurt me. Not like he'd done before—not like the day I lost Carver, or when Bethany was taken to the Circle. But I, on the other hand, struggled to keep up Fenris' persona. Brooding took a lot out of you. Especially when you were quite the opposite.

So instead I remained quiet all together, ignoring my friends when they asked me something—if they said anything to me at all. Merrill didn't enjoy some of the things Fenris chose to say to her on occasion, Varric always minded his own business, Isabela was Isabela, Aveline was too busy half the time to join us, and Anders glanced my way every now and then with a grin on his lips. I still didn't think he cursed us into these new bodies, however, despite Fenris' beliefs.

We bumped into a few idiots who decided to try and cleave their way through us with their swords, a group of swordsmen who wanted to create some sort of upheaval amongst those of Kirkwall, I supposed. Their first mistake was trying to cross the now dual wielding Fenris, who lashed out upon them and slashed their throats and watched their blood seep onto the ground. Their second mistake, however, was made when one jerked their blade forward, and sunk it into the skin of Fenris' abdomen.

He didn't double over like I expected him to, though. Instead I jackknifed and clutched my stomach, reddened with blood. Fenris' blood. A groan seeped through my lips and I crumpled on the ground. Fenris', seemingly untouched after being stabbed, whirled around and looked my way. I waved him onward and watched my companions slash a bloody path through the men, pleading to the Maker for the pain to end.

We might have swapped bodies, but if one soul was hurt the other, still linked, felt the brunt of the pain. Very much like I experienced now. Anders passed a look between us and darted over to my side, rolled me over onto my back, and shouted for our companions to move out of the way. My eyes, glazed over by the agony, locked on Fenris. At least he didn't get hurt—at least I protected him from pain he would have felt had I been stabbed.

"Oh dear, I didn't even see Fenris get hurt." Merrill cupped her hands over her mouth, eyes widened. Part of me, the Hawke part of me, wanted to reach out and hug her close to my side. But within Fenris' body, I knew otherwise. Thankfully, Fenris mustered up the strength to hug her, as if reading my mind, and held his smile despite the way the elf clung to him. "Anders, you'll be able to help him, right? I wouldn't want any of our friends to die. "

"I'm fine, guys. Go on ahead to the Hanged Man and order some drinks on m-" I closed my mouth almost as soon as I finished my statement. I realized too late how unlike Fenris I sounded. He wouldn't offer them drinks. He didn't even _like _half of our group. At least not so much the mages; more so Merrill because of her blood magic. "It's bad enough I have to endure being around _this abomination._"

I ignored the way Anders glared at me and the looks of the rest of my party. With their heads bowed, they obliged and wandered back down the path which lead to the bar. I remained behind, back pressed against the dirt covered ground, Anders above me with his hands outstretched. He'd healed me a few times before, but I never got over the way he positively glowed when he worked his magic. My side stitched up before our eyes, the blood still lost, but at least it stopped for now.

I stumbled to my feet, my skin an even lighter shade of pale now. Anders hooked his hand beneath my arm and curled it around his shoulder. Ree Hawke would have leaned into his touch, but Fenris would have pushed the mage away for even daring to touch him. So I shrugged out of his grasp and walked along by myself, ignoring his pleas for me to come back.

"Fuck that."

-.-.-

I stared down at the amber liquid in my cup, hoping I looked like the typical brooding Fenris. In my mind, I pretended I was glaring the cup into submission. After all, no one lasted beneath the seriousness in Fenris' gaze. You either cowered away or found yourself attracted to it. It was odd, because in the few minutes I remained in the Hanged Man, I noted three gazes from three beautiful women. All of which no doubt interested in the man with the _sexy _and _mysterious _demeanor. I knew the look they aimed my way first hand; heck, I invented it.

In my attempt to come off as the elf I failed to notice Isabela as she walked over and smoothed her hand along the front of my chest piece, a smirk already in place. I cleared my throat and tried to focus on anything besides her amplified chest and puckered lips. My eyes trailed around the room, shifting between Anders and Fenris, then Merrill and Varric. Every so often I felt her hand travel further south until I shoved her hand away and glowered at her.

"What? You _never _complain when I touch you like this." She stepped closer, her other hand now against my chest. "Plus, after you're little spill, I'm sure you're a bit tense. I can...ease that tension for you."

I shoved her hand away again. "I'm not in the mood."

"Is that so? Usually you're..._insatiable_._" _A giggle rolled from the pirate's tongue like honey. I nearly shoved my fist down her throat for the sound. "Don't be an idiot. Why don't I slip away to my room, and _out_ of these clothes, and you come join me when our friends leave?"

"Give me a moment."

Isabela nodded her head and announced that she wanted to head off to bed. When she passed I forced myself to not shove my foot out beneath her and watch her smirk fall from her face once she hit the ground. Insatiable. Fenris was insatiable. While I locked myself in my room for days after Fenris walked out on me when I wanted him around most, he went off and slept with the seductive pirate. While I sobbed into my pillow he moaned as pleasure lapped at him in waves, and while I wanted nothing more for him to be with me—_beside me_—he was inside another.

Cup in hand, I walked around the bar and stopped in front of Fenris. The others turned to look at me with their confusion lined faces, but it was too late for them to stop me. With a quick jerk of the hand the contents of my cup rained down upon him. He remained, face expressionless, while I grinned to myself and turned away from the group, ignoring Merill's cries from behind me and Ander's offers to help "clean her up."

"Fenris." I barely heard the call, and glanced over my shoulder to look at him. "I'm sorry."

"I don't need your apologies, _Hawke._"

I clutched my side and limped out of the Hanged Man, a victorious grin along my lips.

-.-.-

Instead of returning to Fenris' dreary mansion for the night, I wandered through Hightown and entered my own home, walked to my own bedroom, and curled up in a ball on my own bed. On the edge sat a book I'd read a few times, the pages withered and worn, opened to the third chapter. I allowed myself to grin, because Fenris must have read a bit during the day while he remained within my body. It took some time, but I managed to teach the elf how to read enough to get him through most books. He struggled here and there with pronunciations and the general meaning of some words, though his hindrances paled in comparison to his accomplishments.

"What are you doing here?"

I turned my head at the sound of my voice and glowered at Fenris. "This is technically _my _estate," I said, fisting the sheets on my bed, adding, "Although, I should be in Isabela's room right about now. I forgot. Apparently I'm _insatiable _and I should probably go get my fix for the night. Excuse me while I go bed our dear busty pirate."

"Hawke-"

"Do not!" My voice rattled the walls of my home. "While I asked the Maker what was wrong with me for all these years, while I berated myself constantly and tried to figure out what I'd done wrong, you were busy sleeping with another. If that night was so horrible, you should have _told _me. Not go off and have meaningless sex with someone I doubt you really care for."

"You don't understand," he said, stepping forward.

I shook my head. "Oh, that's right. Sleeping with me brought back horrifying memories. _Being with me_ hurt you. But you know what, Fenris? Being without you hurt _me _more."

"It was all very sudden—those glimpses I had here and there of who I used to be, there one moment and gone the next. It was...overwhelming, to say the least." He turned away from me to look out the window, eyes trained on the moon above. "But that doesn't mean what I did was right. And when I realized the hurt it caused you I knew it was too late."

I remained speechless, frozen in place.

"We have never discussed what happened between us three years ago."

"If I remember correctly, you left before we had the chance." My jaw clenched while I spoke.

"I felt like a fool. I thought it better if you hated me—I deserved no less."

"And yet you slept with Isabela."

"Yes, but it isn't better," he said, turning back to me. "That night...I remember your touch as if it were yesterday. I should have asked you for your forgiveness long ago. I know what I did was wrong, and I know you have no reason to trust my word, but I hope you can forgive me now."

"I..."

His hand curled around the back of my neck. "If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side."

He moved closer, his mouth hovering over mine. I backed away from him. "Fenris...this doesn't feel right. I don't want to allow myself to be selfish while in _your _body." And yet my body hummed for him, jolted to life by the immediate desire that lapped at me in waves.

"I don't care, Ree." He stepped forward again. An arm slipped around my waist and pressed against the sore side of my body. I hissed and shied away from his embrace a bit, but not enough for him to remove his arm all together. "I would take away your pain if I could," he murmured against my lips, and sealed his words by pressing them against mine.

With his words something deep inside me stirred and snapped. I was ripped in half and, for a moment, floated above my body. The body I preoccupied, Fenris' body, fell limp to the ground, as did my own body. I assumed death claimed us both at the same time, that the mage endured enough of their punishment on us and decided to finally end us as we knew it. I closed my eyes, but when they opened again I stared up at the familiar ceiling of my bedroom, vaguely aware of Fenris' breathing from beside me.

Curious, I lifted myself onto fours and crawled over to his side. He winced as I unbuckled the chest piece on his armor and tugged his tunic from out of his breeches. A bruise still marred his side from where Anders had healed me. I hadn't been dreaming, nor did I die.

"We match now," I said, patting my abdomen where my own scar lingered. Fenris shifted into a sitting position and winced, still adjusting to the soreness he most definitely felt. "And in response to your statement about us having a future, nothing would make me happier than to know you'll be at my side. But no more late night Isabela fun; she's beautiful, yes, but I would rather you be here. With me."

Fenris' lips curled at the edges, the closest to a smile I was going to get. Once more he leaned in to my face and captured my lips with his, my head cradled between two very capable hands. The fire in my fireplace danced and basked us in an orange glow, warming me to the core despite the heat of his mouth against my own. I opened my mouth to his and tasted him, creating a new memory for myself. Of a new beginning, where he walked beside me no matter what. My fingers curled around his hair and tugged in lightly, receiving a moan from his lips which I swallowed with my kiss. I wanted to hear him, to feel him beneath the tips of my fingers, to taste him and relish him in this moment. Three years—it had been three years too many since the last time I felt him, all of him, against me.

He reached up to my bed and gripped the covers, tugged them free and pressed my back against them, mouth never leaving mine. Slowly, almost agonizingly slowly, he moved his mouth across my jaw, then shifted to the spot right below my ear and worked his mouth there. He knew it was my weakness and attacked it, the heat of his mouth hazing over any coherent thoughts I might have harbored. Teeth grazed against the skin, nipped at it and kissed it over and over again until my hand shot out and I clutched onto his hair at the nape of his neck. A gasp rattled my vocal chords when they moved lower and lower, always lower.

Lips kissed, nipped and sucked at my collar bones, dipped between my breasts and settled against the bottom of my sternum. He unwrapped the robes I was dressed in, which I figured were a result of my actions at the bar earlier, and stared down at my now exposed figure. I shivered under the passion-lined gaze, at the way his lips curled up in satisfaction and formed a smirk. He captured one of my breasts in my hand and flicked his thumb over the nipple, while he swirled his tongue around the other until the tip hardened in my arousal, then returned the favor to the other side. I groaned and gasped beneath him, my hips coming to press against his, grinding against the heat of his hardened length.

I wanted him, all of him, in the most selfish form possible and decided he wore too much for my liking. My hands dipped beneath his tunic and tugged it free from his body, tossing it off to the side without a care in the world. My attention shifted to his chest, marred with his lyrium tattoos and glowing in the light of the fire. I smoothed the pads of my fingers along his chest and traced the patterns while he returned his attention back to my neck, his hands trailing against the inside of my thigh but never pressing against the heat building up below. They continued their path until they met the waistband of his breeches and dipped below, running down the length of him and curling around him.

He moaned against my lip, the vibration alone sending shivers up my spine. A hand of his own reached down to rip my hand free of his member and wrapped both of my hands above my head, while the other hand pressed against the inside of my thigh once more. I whimpered and writhed beneath him, trying to bring my hips low enough to meet his hand. I needed him to touch me, to fill me and satisfy the desire and _need _for him. A chuckle rumbled through his mouth, through my own. I pulled his lip into my mouth and bit down. Hard. Enough to draw blood.

"Fenris..._fuck_..." I wasn't one for begging, and this time was no exception. The taste of iron against my lip heightened the burning between my legs. "Maker, I need you."

"I want to memorize all of you. I don't want to forget," he growled against my chest, his tongue drawing a circle around my nipple again before moving to kiss a path down my abdomen. His hand moved away from my heat and covered the scar on my belly, his thumb running along it.

"_Please_," I gasped out, struggling to free my hands from his hold above my head. "Please, I'm begging you."

He smirked. "This is a first."

His fingers slipped between my moistened folds, brushed against my swollen nub which ached for attention. One glided inside, followed by another and slipped in and out until they formed a pattern to match my erratic breathing, while his thumb moved in a circle around my nub. With his attention so focused on bringing pleasure my hands freed from his grasp, giving me access to his back. I dug crescents into his back and moaned to the heavens, rocking my hips to meet his and reach deeper and deeper until I teetered on the edge of my climax.

The tempo quickened as my gasps and moans heightened, my mind clouded over with red hot lust. I was so close and yet so far. I could feel the beginnings of an orgasm building, coiling in my heat, but it was too far away. Just out of my reach, teasing me and adding to the ache. Fenris noticed this and moved himself lower, his tongue replacing his thumb against my nub. A choked cry slipped from my lips at the first swirl of his tongue around me, prodding and probing until my walls and body convulsed around his fingers.

"Maker."

I gasped against his shoulder, my breath in short puffs. A hand curled around the back of his neck and pulled him down to my face, his eyes locked on mine. Droplets of blood lingered on his bottom lip, the visible product of my assault on his mouth displayed before my eyes. Wincing, I leaned forward and pressed my mouth against his as an apology. He returned his thanks in the form of a bruising kiss, his hands pressed against my hips, where they kneaded circles into the skin there. Aroused anew, I rutted against the heat of his pelvis, aware of the tension that held his form.

Once more my fingers dipped beneath the band of his breeches and curled around his length. I pumped him in time with his ragged breaths, while my other hand worked at the laces and freed his arousal from its confinements. I smirked to myself when his erection sprung free, no unmentionables to keep him within. Fenris chuckled at my decision to not wear the undergarments while in his body and dropped a kiss against my breast, another moan released against my skin. Before I moved to run my finger over his manhood, slicked at the tip, Fenris ripped my hand away from him and forced my shoulders down against the blankets pressed against my back.

A growl rumbled in his chest. "I want you, Ree Hawke." In one, swift movement he thrust inside me. Claimed me as his once more. "Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you."

"Then don't," I whispered, kissing him.

Discomfort flooded my body at the first few thrusts while my walls accommodated to Fenris. I bit my lip and came to meet his hips, building a steady pace until the discomfort ebbed away. With one hand used to prop himself up and away from falling on top of me, and the other cupped around my breast, I whimpered and groaned while he flicked his thumb over my peak, joined by his tongue every so often. The familiar burning ignited in my heat and coiled in my belly again, brought to life by the feel of him against me and inside of me—wholly so.

He thrust into me once more and gasped against my neck, his fingers moving to my hands to hold them above my head. I urged him on with my hips, wanted him to drive into me faster and bring me to the edge again. He happily obliged, our hips coming together with a reckless abandon. Waves of passion tossed over my head and threatened to drag me under. My insides screamed for release. Against his leg my foot trembled, clenched against the intensity building within. With one of my legs hooked around his hip, he drove into me harder. Deeper. Aimed to hit that spot which pushed me into the oblivion I so desperately needed.

A final growl rattled my ears and Fenris spent himself inside me, which in turn sent me over the edge. My body throbbed and convulsed beneath his, hands reached out to touch him, to grab onto him with all the strength I mustered up as he turned the both of us onto our sides. I kissed him and murmured to him my confessions of love, which he returned in Tevinter, my head pressed against his chest while he spoke, aware of the elevated heartbeat he maintained while he spoke those words.

We came together again three times that night. Once for forgiveness, another as a new start, and the last for the future to come.

-.-.-

"Looks like Fenris is back to staring at Hawke with those puppy dog eyes of his," Merrill said, sighing. "He's in love, and I'm sure she is, too."

Anders smirked. "Then it worked."

"...What worked?" The Dalish tilted her head to the side.

"_Oh_...nothing."


	3. Someone Like You

_A/N:_ This is a response to a "Cheeky Monkey's Challenge" about heartbreak. While this isn't a horribly heartbreaking story, I'd imagine it's a bit...bittersweet. I enjoyed writing this one, and the idea popped into my head while in my Sociology class while I probably should have been paying attention instead. Awh well.

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bioware. I will not post disclaimers anymore, because I'm not going to randomly earn rights to these characters. Not ever.

**-oOo-**

_I heard that you're settled down. That you found a girl and you're married now. I heard that your dreams came true. Guess she gave you things I didn't give to you. _

_(Someone Like You—Adele.)_

**-oOo-**

She had a name.

Aurora danced her familiar dance around the practice dummy, blades glinting in the fading light. Sweat clung to her brow and hardened her already tensed features. Body lowered to the ground and poised at the ready, she lunged forward. The blade slipped into the fabric of the dummy's chest—no satisfying sound of flesh meeting her blade to greet her ears. She pulled the dagger out and continued her dance. Light on her feet, swift as a cat, she continued. Each movement which ended started anew with another. An endless motion, like a heartbeat, never ending until death pulled her victims beneath its midnight colored cloak.

An orange glow produced by the disappearing sun bathed her skin in shadows, the outline of her form extended behind her. When she moved it, too, moved. The sound of birds fleeing to their nests and calling to their mates brushed past her ears, a mere backdrop to the sounds of her exertions. A grunt passed through her parted lips. She brought her forearm to her forehead and swiped the sweat away. Brows furrowed in determination, she lunged forward, parrying an unseen opponent.

_You let your guard down, you die, _she reminded herself, images of darkspawn passing in her vision. Their marred, scarlet skin. The scent of their tainted blood—of _her_ blood—burning in her nostrils. Faraway sounds of their screams as they died on the end of her daggers, ripped from the world by her hand. How many had she killed? She'd lost count, all their faces, their gnarled faces, nothing more than glimpses here and there in her mind. Innocent humans, too. Some she killed because of what they called her—others for their sins. But she never really earned the ability to take life from them, from the _shems_. And yet she'd slain so many.

What was one more to her? One more who would give her a life back. A life she wanted—a life unheard of for a "dirty knife-ear."

Her name tasted like acid on her tongue: _Princess Anastasia de Arlesans. _

**-oOo-**

"Aurora."

She sunk the blade into the dummy's shoulder, right below the collar bone, barely missing where the aorta would have been. The wound wouldn't have killed, but it would have ached even after healing. A dull ache as time progressed, but an ache nonetheless. As broken as the heart within her chest. "Go away!"

"And here I thought I would at least hear a _please_," Alistair said, stepping out of the shadows he'd shrouded himself in to allow for a moment of admiration for the rogue's display, chuckling. "Please, allow me five minutes of your time."

"_One._" The daggers met the dummy's stomach. "Make it worth my while, _your Majesty._" One moved to swipe across the the throat. "For I have nothing to say to you right now." With one dagger still poised across the throat, she plunged the other within the heart and twisted. Without removing it, she turned around on the heel and faced Alistair for the first time in days, refusing to meet his gaze.

"What have I done? Tell me and I will go."

Aurora stepped in front of him, the note in the pocket of her breeches burning against her hip. A hand slipped to her side and retrieved the parchment, then placed it in Alistair's opened palm. "I find it highly ironic that _I_ of all people would have been invited to this. A royal wedding, Alistair." Her jaws clenched, the vein in her neck twitching.

He swallowed, voice thick. "I never meant for you to find out this way."

She laughed, a hollowed sound void of life. "Then when? When you sneak into my room another night? Or after you _lie _to me and make me believe that any part of you loved me—or could have loved me before you became king?" Her head shook, strands of blonde hair flying about her face. "Maybe I wouldn't have been told were it not for Eamon's invitation. I would have been a mistress on the side, hidden in shadows because you're ashamed of who I am—what I am. And I wouldn't have known until after the ceremony."

"It is my job to marry and produce an heir. If not, all we have did at the Landsmeet will have been for nothing. If I had my way it would be you, Aurora." His lips curled at the corners, though uncertainty lined his face. She knew he wanted to reach out and touch her in the way his fingers twitched at his side and how his eyes trailed the contours of her lips, quivering at the mere thought of claiming them once more when they went against all she believed in. "The past two years, getting to know you—to _love you—_I would do ten times over again if I could. Believe me, sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I denied the crown-"

"Don't say that. Please." She feared she might almost believe him; that they could have been something more if things played out differently. "You don't mean that."

Her throat burned and her head whirled. The colors painted across the sky melded together like two lovers entwined with each other. So many nights the two had done the same before a fire or within their tents. No matter the circumstance, whenever they earned a moment of peace from the Blight, their mouths came together in order to satiate the burning desire which raged whenever they found themselves together.

She could feel his warmth as he pulled her away from the training center and into the shadows, veiled away from prying eyes. A hand splayed across her hip, another cradled the curve of her jaw. Her head instinctively moved toward the gentle caress, letting the side of her face fill his palm as his heat overwhelmed her. _Too close. I can't. I want. I need. I need. I need. _Lips hovered over her own. Her eyes closed, his eyes closed.

"I don't want to marry her, Aurora." His forehead pressed against hers. She inhaled. He still smelled like ash and wood, even after all this time. "She will be my wife, but I will never love her as I love you." The side of his nose brushed down hers, his breath teasing her against her lips.

"Will you say that when she is heavy with child?" Aurora asked, her lip trembling. "With _your _child and heir to the throne."

"I would wish it ours instead."

"Don't say that, Alistair. She will give you what I never could." The pads of her fingers trailed down the side of his face. "I...may as well be barren. And I know you, of all people, would not wish the life of a bastard upon your own."

She tilted her head up and pressed her lips to the corner of his jaw, right where it met his ear. Then, turning, she kissed him on the lips properly. She loved how he forced her up against the wall and hooked her legs around his hips, giving him access to the curve of her neck. Loved the way his teeth grazed her sensitive skin and rattled a nerve deep within her core, which ached and throbbed each time his mouth found another spot to discover and tease.

When his hands moved to dip beneath the waist of her breeches she pulled her head back and looked him in the eye. "When?"

"We marry in a fortnight."

She kissed him again. Harder this time. "Then you are still mine until then. Come to my room tonight. I'll leave the window unlocked."

He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to the corner of hers. When he came to her that night her firm, young body leaned against her desk, a smile curling her lips.

"Blow out the candle," she said, and tugged her hair free from its bindings. "I know I shouldn't allow myself this selfishness, but I want to have this, if only for a moment before someone else takes it away from me. I know it's wrong for me to feel this way—but I can't find myself willing to push the desire away." She held out her hand to him and stared into his eyes.

Alistair struggled for a moment and leaned over to blow out the candle, took her hand in his, and leaped with her. In the dark they allowed themselves to feed their selfish desires, to feel the weight of their worlds disappear from their shoulders, the heat of another body pressed against their own. She knew it was wrong, and he knew he was promised to another, but that night they abandoned their duties...and broke _all _the rules.

**-oOo-**

While the beautiful Princess Anastasia de Arlesans walked down the aisle to clasp the hand of her awaiting betrothed on the other end, Aurora imagined a different scene in her mind. Shrubbery and trees lined every which way she looked, all of which blossoming with flowers, not yet developed, but starting to. Hints of new life and new beginnings ahead. Fitting for a bonding ceremony. Alistair stood at the end of the forest wearing a green leather jerkin, decorated around the neckline with twisting and turning vines, leaves poking out in certain places.

She walked down the aisle to meet the man of her heart in a gown as emerald as her eyes, lined with gold around her neck. Braided in her hair were the wildflowers the elflings would have decorated it with, an array of colors from white to a blue even the sky would envy. Instead of a traditional veil she would have donned a circlet made out of vines and the horns of a deceased halla. When she joined him they held their hands together in the proper Dalish bonding ceremony manner. Hand to hand, wrist to wrist, their pulses beating as one. The words of their bonding would have been spoken while a rope locked their hands in place. Together.

Her mouth rounded out the words, but no sound came out. Alistair looked at her, eyes widened, confused as to why his bride was rendered silent. All around her the vision of perfection dimmed in her mind as the trees and bushes were set ablaze and burned until they were no more than ashes on the soiled ground. The echo of her voice, finally restored, reached her ears at the sight of a tree towering over her...and falling at a great speed. Right before the world dissipated and everything changed to black she spotted Alistair, stilled on the ground...

Silent as his wife.

**-oOo-**

"Still wearing that charm, I see?" Anders seated himself beside the Warden Commander, his gaze zeroed in on her profile. "It's nice—that is, once you get past the fact that there is a gnarled eye in the middle of it. The assassin gave it to you, didn't he?"

"He did, actually," she said as his fingers toyed with the charm around her neck, dangling on a fine gold chain. In the distance Alistair, seated upon his dais with his new bride, watched the couple with a calculated gaze. Aurora's fingers moved to wrap around Anders'. Alistair tensed, ignorant to the smirk which lined the elf's lips at the action. "It's from Antiva, I believe. I would assume so. He claims that it does _something _when you wear it_, _though he never explained what."

He weighed the charm in his palm, then dropped it against her sternum and moved to his feet. With a hand extended, he chuckled at the formality of his gesture and bowed to the elf, oblivious to the heated gaze coming from Alistair—and surely burning a hole in her skull—and the curious gazes from the guests around her. Rising to her feet, Aurora placed her hand in Anders' and allowed him to lead her towards the dance floor.

Couples swirled around on the floor, their brightly colored clothing blurring together in a sea of brilliant hues. They leaned close together, their faces inches from one another, whisperings of sweet nothings falling on their beloveds ears. She wished it could be her who danced with the man she loved, hand in hand, chest to chest, heart to heart. She wanted to feel his breath against her hair as he pulled her close and caged her in the safety of his arms, where many times before she walked into them and willed away the Blight.

He'd always found a way to break her away from reality for a moment in time. Whether through his touch or his kiss, his actions worked the same. Her heart sped up, her skin burned, and the world dropped away from beneath her—no longer a problem to dwell on. With him she always forgot about the destruction in their world and the severity of their situation. With him she received her title as Hero of Ferelden, though she loathed the way people chanted it. With him she found a piece of her she never knew existed. With him...she'd learned how to love. And to love a human, no less.

Somewhere in the distance Aurora was aware of Alistair extending his own hand to his bride and brushed away the tears which burned her eyes when the two waltzed over to the couple and danced beside them. Queen Anastasia looked just as beautiful as Aurora imagined she would, with her flawless complexion, dark hair, dark eyes, silhouette any man would yearn for, and a face carved to perfection. Garbed in her scarlet dress, she was a vision.

"It's weird, Anders." The man raised a brow at her words. "I've only ever seen you in your robes...with all the feathers." Her fingers brushed against his shoulders, right where the feathers would have been, a giggle bubbling on her tongue. Instead he donned a simple jerkin and leather breeches—of which she knew were borrowed from Alistair to wear when he admitted he had nothing to wear for the royal wedding. "This is something I don't think I could get used to."

He chuckled, saying, "And here I thought I looked rather _handsome."_

"You _know _you are, Anders," she said, tilting her head to the side. "All of those women I've seen you with would agree, I imagine..."

"Yes, well-" He paused to clear his throat. "Would it be wrong for me to say that you look—well, stunning, tonight? It probably is, but you seem so _sad _and you shouldn't be. Today is a great day. You know, with the templars about, the food, the pretty women...and the templars."

Aurora's cheeks burned at his words. "It's not wrong, but it is unexpected. But if you're uncomfortable with the templars about, though you are untouchable as a Warden, we can always leave for a bit. Castle Denerim's garden is rather beautiful. Or we could go spar."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Anders laughed, his arm around her waist slackening. "_Sparring._"

"Oh hush, a tryst in the shadows is not at all what I was talking about." Her cheeks burned even more, if at all possible. "The gardens it is."

The two exited the castle with their arms locked together, a grin plastered upon both of their faces. Aurora expressed to Anders her love for nature, naming the various different plants within the gardens, as well as the mythological creatures depicted in statues sitting in the center of fountains, along with the statuesque shrubbery. Not once did the smile upon her face vanish.

With Anders, she'd failed to think of Alistair once until the day shifted into night. With Anders, she braved the night curled up on her bed, while he remained seated beside her, unknowing of the Elvish language spilling from her lips. A silent prayer to the Creators. With Anders, she turned to the man—to her _friend _and brother—and sobbed into his jerkin until he pressed a finger to her temple and she slackened in his arms.

"Sleep, Aurora."

But when she did, images of Alistair and her flashed across the inside of her eyelids. She imagined him hovering over her, her pale body beneath him, moaning out a name to the Maker. And it wasn't her name. When he cried out, _Anastasia _hollowed out his lips, as well as Aurora's heart. She woke up, hoping the wedding had been a dream.

It wasn't.

**-oOo-**

Anders and Aurora eventually ventured outside for Aurora's morning run, followed by hours spent sparring with Alistair's men, their blades a melodic sound she couldn't go a day without hearing. Her run was cut short, however, when the familiar voice of Zevran Arainai himself met her ears and she nearly barreled him over in a hug. He spoke about his journeys abroad ever since the Blight ended, his favorite tale of the woman he'd encountered in Orlais, who happened to be carrying his child. Human, much to Aurora's surprise.

Although he had shown no interest in her more than friendship during their travels, Aurora always assumed him to be a man aware of race, very much unlike Aurora who hoped that there would be hope for her and Alistair. After seeing the two fight back during the Landsmeet, most of which her comments about the fact that she would have been a mere serving girl in the castle had he been king all along, and his assurances that he loved her no matter her race, she thought Zevran might have learned something. And yet he wooed a woman, claimed her heart, and now they expected their first.

"Zevran, this is Anders...he's a friend of mine and fellow Warden." The men exchanged curious inspections of one another, which involved scouring each others silhouettes for anything alarming, then shook hands. "I was going to request one of Alistair's men to spar with, but now that you're here I would enjoy sparring with you instead. We haven't in the longest time; how about we make up for lost times sake?"

"Your offer is _very _tempting, _bella. _Let us begin."

Anders stood on the other side of the fence while both rogue elves drew their daggers, grins plastered on their faces. Clangs rang out against the surrounding courtyard, followed by grunts and groans and the sounds of feet against dirt as they shifted their weight rapidly to accommodate for oncoming attacks. Men and women alike gathered around, mutterings of the "Hero of Ferelden" and "The Crow" meeting her ears. Alistair and Arl Eamon themselves wandered over to the site.

Aurora lashed her blades out, then threw her weight backward at a cut aimed across her abdomen. The assassin slashed forward again, and she moved back. Again, and again, and again, until her breath hitched in the back of her throat and the world whirled around her, forearm against her forehead. Inhaling deeply, and ignoring the worried glances of those around her, she launched herself forward, parrying Zevran's attacks. _He's too close. Get away—move out of the way! _She turned on the heel and spun around, but the movement sent her tumbling to the ground, propped up on her knees and her hands.

"Aurora!" Alistair's presence surrounded her, his hand curled around her trembling shoulder.

Before she could push him away and tell him she felt fine Anders approached the two, the mage's hand pulling her hair away from her face as her stomach betrayed her and her meal reared its ugly head. A broken sob slipped past her lips and she turned toward the comfort of a friend—to Anders, who pulled her to her feet and lifted her in his arms.

"Your Majesty, if you could give us a moment."

Alistair dipped his head. "I have a meeting in the afternoon. I'll...visit later."

Aurora shot him a weak smile and leaned her head against Anders' chest, the world still spinning around her. Zevran sheathed his blades and followed beside Anders', muttering something about the charm around her neck. _"She still wears it? She and Alistair still speak, do they not?"_ to which Ander's nodded and told him she wore it every day. About Alistair and her speaking, he held to answer and assumed that they did often enough. Too tired to pay any mind to what they were saying, Aurora allowed her eyelids to droop and accepted the warmth Anders' body provided.

Once in Aurora's room for the duration of their stay in Denerim for the celebrations, Ander's laid her down against the bed and moved his hands above her to assess what caused her sudden spell. She insisted that she felt fine when he babbled his assessments.

"Pulses fine, no head trauma, no physical injury, hea—oh."

Rolling onto her side, the elf said, "Oh?"

"Aurora," he said, mulling over his jumbled thoughts for a second, "you're pregnant."

She shook her head. "No I'm not. With the Taint it's supposed to be nearly impossible. With hi—it's just, it can't be...you're wrong. Anders, this isn't funny. Tell me what's really wrong."

"He isn't joking, _mi amiga_. In fact, it is very possible that he is correct in his assessment. You wear the charm I gave you, no?" The girl nodded. "You remember what I told you about it, do you not? The look on your face tells me no." His fingertips pressed against the charm around her neck. "This is an Antivan fertility charm—"

"Why would you give this to me, then?" She glowered at the elf, then turned to Anders. "Have you heard of something like this?"

"Just about any charm can be laced with magic, usually of the blood magic sort—it's never pretty, I can assure you that—to give a desired effect. In this case, a mage used blood magic to charm your necklace and grant fertility to those who wear them."

"I told you what the charm was used for, Aurora-"

"Yes, while I was _drunk_, Zevran. I thought that it was some sort of joke and figured it was really just a gift from a friend. I never thought that by wearing it I was reversing the Taint and opening myself up to _this. _A—the father won't be too happy this, that much I can tell you." A knock at the door made her jump. "Anders, do not tell anyone of this—you as well, Zevran. I must handle this on my own. Now give me a moment alone with him, if you will."

Both men looked in the direction of the door where Alistair stood, still garbed in his formal wear from his meeting. She assumed it had ended early, and the look on his face alerted that he was more worried about her well being than those of Denerim. She managed a smile at this and waved the other men away, assuring Anders that she would meet him for supper and prepare for them to leave by sunrise.

"You're leaving already? You fell ill in front of everyone outside and now you're going to leave in your condition?"

_In my condition. _"Just because you've been married and nearly all of Ferelden is celebrating the union between Orlais doesn't mean my role as Commander ever stops."

"And I understand that," he said, running his fingers through her hair, "but you're running yourself into the ground. Quite literally at that."

"I'm fine, Anders says I'm run down. All I need is food and a good rest and I will be back to my normal self; there is no need to worry." Despite the fact that her food ravaged her body and esophagus every time she tried to get it to stay down.

"I can't _not _worry about you." Alistair cradled her face in his hands. "I love you. How many times do I need to tell you before you understand?"

Part of her ripped down the middle at his words and the complexity of her situation. "As I love you. Until the end."

The butterflies in her stomach morphed into hummingbirds, their wings too fast in her stomach when Alistair's mouth descended upon her own. Part of her wanted to draw away, to look him in the eye before she allowed herself the kiss to be sure his love still rang true within them, but another pushed her forward and let her lips capture his in her own. They moved together in synchronization. He molded his mouth harder against hers when she yielded, and she did the same when he leaned back in the slightest.

Soon enough, with the door locked to keep intruders from entering, he undressed her and pinned her beneath him on the mattress. His fingers unknowingly stroked the life within her womb as she undressed him, then moved lower until her eyes fluttered closed at the feel of him against her heat. When she looked at him again he hovered over her, and into her, their hips coming together in a maelstrom of passion. It didn't take long for her to cry out against his shoulder, always hiding her true emotion from those who might hear, and sink her teeth into his shoulder when she trembled against his form.

"I love you, but you should go before Anders gets worried about me and comes looking," Aurora said, brushing her fingers through his hair. His head against her heart shifted enough so that his mouth pressed against the base of her collar bone, grinning at the sigh which filtered from her mouth. "I've already gone against his orders for me to rest."

"You and this mage, huh?" Alistair chuckled against her throat. "Should I be worried?"

"Not at all, my love." She kissed him soundly. "Now let me dress. If you're a good king I'll allow you to tie the laces."

"I prefer to _untie _them."

She glowered at him halfheartedly, and slipped on a pale green gown which belonged to one of the nobles in Denerim, much too big for her petite silhouette. The shoulders slipped off no matter how often she tugged them back over her shoulders. Alistair stood behind her, their reflections staring back at them from within the mirror. A pair of calloused hands brushed her light hair to the side and a set of trained lips caressed the curve of her neck, moving upward until they met an earlobe.

"Maybe in another life we could have been together properly," Aurora whispered, tilting her head back against a warm chest while he tugged the laces tight.

He turned her in his arms. "Don't say that, my dear. I will visit and you will visit; we'll see each other as much as possible. I might not like being apart from you for so long, but I couldn't imagine not having you around. Not ever."

"And what will you tell your people—your _wife? _She already mistook me for a servant girl, Alistair. Nearly ripped me apart for stepping on her gown yesterday." She pouted up at him.

"She's really not that horrible." Aurora snorted at that. He pressed his lips to her brow. "Okay, she is pretty horrible. But she is the Queen now, love-"

"Do not remind me."

Aurora adjusted the bust of her gown and tugged the fabric upward, disheartened by the half-moons peaking out from the top. Such fashions were acceptable in Orlais, but she'd never been one for displaying her assets—or lack thereof in her case—for all to see. Alistair moved a hand between them, captured her fingers in his own.

"Stop that. You are beautiful." He brought her fingers to his mouth. "I am a lucky man."

She would sacrifice telling him about the child in her womb, their child, produced by a miracle, just so he would love her another day. In the morning when she headed back to Amaranthine, she would leave with his heart. He would write her and she would write him back. They would speak of their love and devotion toward one another while she nurtured the life in her belly. And he wouldn't know—not until she was sure that the baby was real. Something tangible. Not just another hope dimmed by her life as an elf and Grey Warden, Tainted and supposedly infertile.

Even then her baby would live in a cage, bound by race and their bastard status by which they were conceived, while their future half-siblings would be raised as princes and princesses. They would never know of the struggle their sibling would experience—of the love child their beloved father produced with an _elf. _And she prayed it would stay that way.

**-oOo-**

Aurora had arranged to spend a few nights in Denerim on "Warden Business." Anders suggested that she tell the father of her child that he, too, was expecting. At her current point in the pregnancy, chances of miscarriage diminished almost completely, though nothing was set in stone. Still, she had agreed with the mage and requested Alistair come to her when the sun went down and most of the castle fell asleep. Her belly, though mostly flat, developed a slight curve. Nothing which would alarm to pregnancy, but enough to show that the elf _did _gain some weight.

She stood in front of the mirror, dressed in a night dress and a sheer robe. Her fingers ran through her hair, pale and glinting in the moonlight filtering through the window. Curious, she smoothed her hand down her torso, starting below her breasts, and ending below her hips. From the front no swell was detected, but when she turned she saw it. The little something which proved the baby was there and growing. Feeding off of her and seeking her for nourishment she loved to give.

"Aurora..."

"_Alistair!_" She clutched at her chest, heart pounding against her palm. "I'm so glad you came. I have something to tell you...something important. I'm not sure how you're going to take it, but I know that I'm happy and I would imagine you might be, too." Her hands started to work at the laces on his tunic, her mouth moving to cover his collar bone and nip at it.

"Aurora." He growled out her name, breathing erratic when her fingers slipped past his waistband on his pants and curled around him. "St—stop."

The elf tilted her head to the side. "Stop what?"

"This!" He gestured to her current hand placement. "We can't do _this _anymore. Ana figured out where I've been these past few months when I come visit you on my 'trips' and she's not happy with me as it is. And we recently found out from the healer that...Ana's pregnant. I'm going to be a father, Aurora. Can you believe it? Me, a dad."

"No...no I can't believe it." She turned away from him, a hand pressed against her belly. "And since when do you call her 'Ana?'"

"She's my wife," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. As if he'd forgotten she would have been were he not king. "I thought you would be happy for me; it wasn't so long ago that you supported the idea of me having a child. You knew it wasn't likely for _us _to have a baby. You can't be angry with me for this."

"No, you're right. I knew it wasn't likely for us to ever have a baby of our own." And yet the proof of their love, an extension of the both of them, lingered within her. She willed herself to not cry and turned around to face him, a forced grin upon her lips. "I'm...happy. I'm happy for you, Alistair."

"I just can't believe it still. I'm going to be a father."

_A father. He's going to be a father. _She moved across the room to the bed and settled herself down on it, toying with her robe. The bed dipped beside her and she shifted closer to the solid form, allowing him to wrap his arms around her and hold her while she sobbed into his shoulder. Her sobbing quieted when his mouth captured hers, and soon the sobbing dissolved as a whole and shifted into the quiet sounds of their lovemaking. He whispered her name over and over again, a mantra of a "sorry" he couldn't otherwise convey to her. She moaned his name, a mournful sound of a woman accepting her fate.

When they parted it wasn't to lay within each others arms and hold each other close until she fell asleep and he slipped out of the window and shrouded himself in shadow and returned to his room. This time they dressed in silence and stared at each other, an unspoken understanding. That night had been a goodbye. An end to a chapter in their lives. He had his duties to his wife and child, and she had her own to her role as Commander and expectant mother.

"In my excitement I forgot about your news," Alistair said at last, raising a brow out of curiosity. "What is it you wanted to tell me?"

"_I'm pregnant with your child." _

Instead she shook her head and glanced out the window. "It's nothing to worry about. I've already forgotten what it was I wanted to tell you."

**-oOo-**

Aurora needed to visit the Alienage. What with Bann Shianni requesting that she look into some of the elves for recruiting and the letters she received from some of the possible new Wardens, all of which practically pleading for her to come see them, she scheduled a date to leave and arrived just before Alistair, his wife and his guards returned.

Nearing six months, she found herself growing tired more often than not. She kept her food down, though, and that in itself excited her more than anything. The trip, while unexpected, wasn't unwanted. Lately, the recruits she managed to gather failed their Joinings. Ones she thought would survive dropped dead at her feet, each of which burning another scar into the back of her mind to linger with the others. She still blamed herself for all of them.

As her pregnancy continued Anders kept close to her side to make sure she was protected at all times, even when she assured him she could take care of herself. _Just because I'm pregnant doesn't make me an invalid, Anders. I think you forget. _And yet she found she accepted his presence. It hadn't been long since the end of her and Alistair's relationship, but she still found herself attracted to the mage. She didn't turn him away when he asked if it was proper to kiss his Commander and a pregnant one at that, but instead pulled him close and allowed herself to be ridden of any other thoughts. The rest of the world fell away.

"Looks like we were expected," Ander's said, lacing his fingers with hers.

She shook her head. "His Majesty has returned."

The crowd roared and cheered as Alistair and Anastasia clambered out of their carriage, both grinning from ear to ear. Aurora squeezed Anders' hand tighter in her own and shoved her way to the front of the crowd, earning a few annoyed glances aimed in her direction. With her cloak pulled over her head, no one noticed her right away. She appreciated that, for she wanted to visit the Alienage and leave as soon as possible.

"She's positively _glowing!_"

"-Beautiful, isn't she?"

"The both of them will have beautiful children. His looks and her looks—wonderful!"

Anders pulled the elf close, shielding her form from the rowdy citizens of Denerim. "I didn't know Queen Anastasia was expecting. I hope this doesn't mean I have to deliver her child. Every time I come here I'm looked at like I'm this...diety. It's great at first, but it gets _tiring._"

"You don't seem to complain when the women throw themselves at you."

"I don't want the other women," he said, curling a piece of her hair around his finger.

"Oh, you don't?"

He smirked. "Only the pregnant ones."

She groaned. "Don't even say that. I feel like I swallowed a watermelon, I can't fit into my armor and my bump is in the wrong place. It's..."

"Right where it should be. Really, Aurora, you should give yourself more credit than you do. You're a beautiful woman." She smiled at that and moved in front of the mage, leaning against his chest when he wrapped his arms around her midsection. "Don't look, but the king is watching."

Despite Anders' warning, she looked up to meet the gaze of Alistair aimed in her direction. His eyes were narrowed in accusation at the swell of her belly, a look of betrayal outlined on the features of his face. He then looked at the arms she surrounded herself in—at the mage behind her, a man he respected but clearly loathed in a short matter of time. A man who was there for her when he refused to be. A man who replaced the empty hole in her heart he left her with when he said goodbye.

She leaned up to kiss Anders. _You did this, not me. _

**-oOo-**

"Can I talk to her?"

"...She's asleep, your Majesty. The babe takes a lot out of her lately," she heard Anders say. "I think it's best she rests for now."

"Are you the least bit...worried?"

"Worried? About what, your Majesty?"

"Call me Alistair, you are a fellow Brother." Alistair stepped into the room, the sound of his shoes filled the otherwise dormant air. Aurora curled up tighter on the bed, the bowl of her belly protected by her hands. "What I mean to say is...are you worried about being a father? I'm afraid that I'm going to mess up—that my child is going to hate me and think I'm a great fool. Do you ever fear the same?"

Anders laughed. "I didn't—I'm not—the babe isn't mine."

"You two are involved are you not?"

Anders cleared his throat. "Yes we are, but she was pregnant long before then."

"...And of the father?"

"I'm sure you already know, Brother."

**-oOo-**

"What are you doing?"

Aurora entered the nursery—and used to be office—attached to her bedroom and found Alistair standing before her baby's cradle, glancing down at the child who resembled him in every way. The innocent baby gurgled and cooed up at the man, unaware of the blood they shared which ran through the both of them. She moved beside the man and grinned down at her little boy.

"I cried when he opened his eyes for the first time," she whispered, this time glancing up at Alistair's eyes. "I hoped that I would get to see part of me in him. I wanted him to at least have my eyes, but he doesn't. He's your son in every possible way." She watched him reach out to run a finger along the baby's rounded ears, yet another part of her he hadn't been given. "He's part human—or might as well be all human. He holds none of the Dalish features."

"What's his name?"

"Calanon," she said, waving to the boy. "It means 'light.'"

"Can I?"

She lifted Cal from his cradle and rocked him back and fourth, then settled him in his father's arms. The baby squirmed against his father's chest, but eventually opened his eyes and stared up at him, a miracle in its rawest form. Both Alistair and Aurora reached up to brush the tears in their eyes away, the reunion of a son and his father warming her heart.

"Perfect, isn't he?" she asked.

"I helped make him," he said, grinning. "Where do you think he gets his good looks and charm?"

"I would like to think I helped." She ran her hand down Alistair's arm and poked Cal's belly with her free hand. "Anders says he's the most handsome baby he's ever seen. But that might be partly because he delivered him."

Alistair grimaced. "So you're still seeing him?"

Her head dipped. "I really do love him, Alistair."

"I'm happy if he makes you happy." The man propped his child on his shoulder, a hand rubbing up and down his back.

"He does," she said. One of her pale fingers traced the contours of Cal's face, a smile blossoming on her face as he cooed at her. "It's hard not to love Cal. Even in all of the turmoil he manages to bring me happiness. I never thought I would have him."

"How...did that happen?" Alistair asked, face darkening. "I mean, I know _how _it happened. I _was _there, you know. But with the Taint..." He cleared his throat. "One Warden trying to have a child with a non-Tainted person is hard enough. But two Wardens having a child is unheard of. You yourself said you were practically barren."

She touched the charm around her neck. "Zevran gave me a fertility charm. I didn't know what it was—he gave it to me while we were in Orzammar. And if I remember correctly, we were both drunk. He told me what the charm was for and I must have forgotten," she said, running a finger over the eye. "Anders said that the charm was infused with blood magic, and that women in Antiva wear these when they wish to conceive and have otherwise had problems doing so. I wore it all the time, so it never occurred to me to take it off while we were intimate. So then, that day I fell ill after I sparred with Zevran, I found out I was expecting."

"So when I came to you that night a few months after...and you tried to tell me your news, while I ended things between us...it was to tell me about Cal?"

She nodded.

"I'm a fool."

"A royal fool, yes." She chuckled and tried to force her tears to halt when Alistair shifted his son and kissed him on the nose. "I should have told you earlier. You should have been there for the birth. I owed you that much at least. He's yours just as much as he is mine."

"You didn't owe me anything. I left you with him while you were still pregnant; I'm just glad Anders helped when I could not."

"Sweetheart, the recruits are waiting for you down in the courtyard," Anders said, entering the room and kissing the elf, oblivious to their company. "Oh, hello, Alistair." He glanced down at the baby in his arms. "He's a handsome baby, isn't he? Definitely the most handsome out of all the children I've delivered."

"Thank you."

Aurora grinned. "Alistair, you can stay with Cal if you want. It'll just be a moment. I'd like to talk to you later anyway. About Cal and the arrangements I'm sure you'd like to have set in place. You know, a schedule to see him. I know he's not welcome in Denerim, but you're welcome to see him. I do want his father in his life."

Without another word the couple slipped out of the room, leaving Alistair with the child he never thought he'd be blessed with.

**-oOo-**

The plans were set. Alistair would visit as often as he could, which meant whenever he could find time in his schedule. Throughout their conversations, not once did the man release his child from his hold. Instead he admired him and stared into the eyes which mirrored his own, still shocked at the fact that the child was his. Aurora might have carried him, but he was just as much his as he was hers.

They both were distracted every time their child would make a noise or do something different and smiled when Cal turned his head toward his father's chest and napped in his arms. When it was time for Alistair to leave Aurora brushed the tears from his eyes, tears of a man who experienced the gift of life and an extension of their love for the first time, and kissed him on the cheek. She thanked him for blessing her with their baby boy and wished him the best of luck for when Queen Anastasia gave birth.

"I still love you," Alistair whispered, kissing her brow. "Part of me always will. Especially after seeing Cal."

Her heart had grown and expanded for her to love both Anders and her baby, but she understood, because part of her would always love the man who made her a mother as well. "I will always love you, too. You've given me Cal, and I cannot thank you enough for him."

"He's going to break hearts in the future. He looks too much like his father, after all."

"We'll see you soon," Aurora said giggling and lifting one of Cal's arms to wave it. "Say bye to da, baby."

Cal gurgled, eyes still lidded.

"I will visit as soon as I can." He lowered his lips to his son's forehead and pressed a kiss to his brow.

Later that night, with Calanon asleep in his cradle, Aurora allowed Anders to make love to her for the first time. To her, it meant a new beginning. A new life with a man she loved and knew loved her back. She gasped and arched into him when he touched her and cried out when he filled her for the first time and whispered sweet nothings into her ear. She had much to be grateful for, and as their hips came together, she counted them off in her mind. Her baby, her beautiful son. Anders, the man of her heart. Alistair, a father to her child and a friend. The Wardens, her extended family and the only family she knew.

And while some days her heart still ached for Alistair, she looked at Anders and Calanon and knew that here, with them, was enough.


End file.
